Seven Bombs and Counting
by SunnySato
Summary: Sherlock and John get a call from an old enemy, and he gives them 7 days to find seven bombs... and if they don't find them in time, who knows what will happen? Please read & review as I don't know whether to do more or not...
1. Chapter 1

Silence.

The ice-cold sense of reality crept into John Watson's body. What was he going to do? With Sherlock gone, (dead or alive?) he had no idea where to start- Sherlock had always been the one who decided what to do, solved the crimes, caught the criminal, got them home in one piece. What was he going to do now?

Chapter 1

'So Sherlock, whats our next case?' asked John Watson through a mouthful of undercooked pot noodles.

'I have a feeling that this is what DI Lestrade is about to tell us.' Replied Sherlock Holmes, jumping out of his hard wooden chair and bounding to the door and opening it just as a startled but almost unsurprised Lestrade was about to knock.

'Good evening Sherlock, John, I was wondering if we could have your help on a particularly, lets say confusing case.'

' Ah, confusing, something different for a change. How can I help you?' despite answering sarcastically, Sherlock was interested, the kicks he got from his job were second to nothing else, he practically lived and breathed from the danger, the sense of excitement of guessing where the criminal would strike next, and the strange feeling of expecting the unexpected.

'Well-'

SMASH.

'Duck!' Yelled Sherlock, but Lestrade wasn't fast enough, something large, a brick, had hurled itself into the small appartment through one of the large, victorian style windows and caught Lestrade on the side of his head. Lestrade slumped to the floor, his head bleeding, crimson blood staining the creaky wooden floorboards.

'Quick, John call an ambulance now!'Sherlock shouted at John. 'Someone wanted to shut him up but who... or maybe it wasn't him they wanted to shut up... maybe they were scared I knew who they were...'

'It'll be here in a minute... Sherlock?' John waved a hand in front of his friend's face to get his attention.

'Sherlock...'

'I know who it is.'

'Know who who is, Sherlock?'

'It's Moriatry.'

'Moriar-?'

John was cut off by his mobile ringing, and within a second Sherlock had answered it eagerly, yet cautiously.

'Oi, thats my-' again, John was cut off, this time by Sherlock motioning for him to be quiet.

'Hello?'

'Sherlock, my dear, shall we call you, for want of a better word, friend. I hear you've already found out who I am.'

'How did you-?'

'Know?' asked the speaker mockingly. 'That stupid Detective Inspector who can't solve any of his own cases, I bugged him. He really is thick you know. But this is neither here nor there. You haven't caught me yet, and time is running out. I have seven bombers; one placed in each of seven major cities in Britain: Cardiff, Edinburgh, Dublin, Manchester, Glasgow and two at opposite ends of London. Each has a single aim: to cause as much panic in the next seven days that is possible. One bomb will go off each day, and at the end of this all, I will make sure that everyone knows who you are, and that it is your fault. You understand? Lets make it nice and easy for you. The first bomb will go off in London in ten hours. Your seven days start now. Goodbye Sherlock... happy hunting'

The connection was cut, leaving the flat in silence, but the road outside was a bustle of people and sirens and voices; two paramedics shoved their way into the room and dragged Lestrade onto a stretcher before pulling him like a sack of potatoes down the rickety staircase. Sherlock closed the scratched mobile and dropped it on the floor, and jumped up grinning.

' Ah, the seven bombs, seven days thing. They always use this one. Getting a bit boring now though, I'm sure Moriarty of all people could think of something better'

'Sherlock-'

'Seriously, how easy is this? Always the same cities, and He expects this to be 'hard' and 'frightening'?'

'Sherlock, wha-?'

'Come on John, lets go.'

'Where? And whats going on?' John called after Sherlock as he raced through the door, bounding out of sight. His questions fell to deaf ears. Why did he bother? With the sigh of a long-suffering man, he ran to the door and got to the top of the stairs in time to see Sherlock disappear out into the cold air of the dark, cloudy night.

A few seconds later, Sherlock was joined outside by John, and they both slid onto the backseat of a cab that Sherlock had hailed.

'So, where are we going? And whats going on?' John was finally able to ask.

'Hospital. I'll fill you in on the way there.'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

'So, what do we do?'

'John, you have been asking me that for the past what, half an hour? I'm trying to think and I can't, not with you banging on about 'what we're going to' do. So shut up!' Exploded Sherlock somewhat quietly albeit violently.

'Alright, I was just asking...' muttered John back, as he turned to open the cab door. He got out, placed a tenner in the palm of the cabbie's grubby looking hand and stalked off down the street, closely followed by Sherlock who soon caught up with him. They had had to leave the hospital almost as soon as they had got there because according to the paramedic who had been in Lestrade's ambulance, he 'wasn't allowed any visitors', a rule which Sherlock had tried to bypass, but had been unsuccessful and ultimately resulted in both John and Sherlock being thrown out of the hospital.

'Right, what do we know?' Asked Sherlock, more to himself than Watson.

'It's Moriarty thats planning the attacks' Answered John. 'Seven bombs, Seven days, six cities, thats it isn't it?'

John, if you'd have listened the first time I told you then you wouldn't have to ask. I'm guessing that he wants us to feel like it will be easy to find the bombs by putting the first bomb in London, so he'll have put it in an easy to find place. Now the other bombs... the other bombs, they're more tricky. He wants to build our confidence in the fact that we've found our first bomb so he'll make them harder to find so that we give up thinking that it will be too much for us to do, but he is wrong. He isn't as brilliantly clever as me.'

'Not arrogant at all are you?' John sarcastically commented, which gained a glare from Sherlock.

'Well, the fact that you have a pitifully small mind is not my fault, so don't take it out on me, ok? Have you got the key?'

John produced the small bronze key and inserted it into the tarnished and scratched old lock which was in need of replacing and opened the door. As they stepped from the doorway into the penetrating warmth and light of the hallway, Sherlock bent down to examine something on the carpet.

'Sherlock-' John started, but didn't finish as Sherlock put his hand out to signal to him to be quiet, and closed the door with an almost inaudible click. Comprehension dawned on Watson's face as he realised that someone must have been or still be in 221b Baker street.


	3. Chapter 3

**So this is the third chapter to 7 Bombs and counting, thanks to Billie AKA Cookie-monster-magic for beta'ing for me ****Please R&R as it really would make my day!**

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Chapter 3

Silently but agilely, Sherlock bounded up the usually creaky stairs in four large strides without them making a sound and stood balancing on the small sparsely carpeted landing that jutted from their first floor room, span halfway round to motion to John to stay downstairs and crept slowly towards the slightly ajar door of his and John's flat. Slowly, he edged it further and further open until he had made a big enough space to fit through and slinked inside, not unlike a cat. He looked at the living room in surprise. It hadn't changed. Nothing had happened... except... His well trained eye began to pick out differences in the way it was set out: A coffee cup, previously on a coaster was now placed next to it on the rickety coffee table; A cushion on one of the worn armchairs had moved a fraction; and a some of the CDs in John's growing collection had been swapped around- there were many more things that he could list but it all added up to make it really very obvious that someone had been there when they were out. A fleeting glance round the rest of the flat told Sherlock that the intruder had gone, leaving, it seemed, nothing except a faint mark from the coffee mug on the table. He shouted to John to come upstairs then went to walk round the flat to observe- Moriarty had obviously wanted them to know that he had been there, so he had come for a reason... what was it? Racking his brains, he remembered about a break in he had read about recently- the thief had left a DVD in the DVD player for the flat owners to watch which showed them that their security was pretty much up to nothing. But in doing this, it also showed the gloating immodesty of the criminals; and when a criminal takes their skills for granted, they slip up. And this common burglar definitely slipped up. A trail was left from the flat they had burgled to their headquarters, meaning they were quickly found by the police. He walked over to the DVD player and opened it up and… Yes, there it was, just as he had expected. He took the disk out and examined every surface. It looked fairly new, it had been bought for this purpose and this purpose only. There were no marks on it, not a smudge or a scratch to be seen, marking it out clearly as Moriarty's work.

John arrived after walking (it seemed to Sherlock to be at a painstakingly slow pace) up the stairs. Sherlock slipped the DVD into the disk drive and pushed it shut impatiently. He was getting that feeling again, that strange bubbling sensation that he always got when he had to solve a particularly puzzling case, and he had to fight hard not to jump up impatiently as he waited for the almost ancient DVD player to recognise that it was in fact meant to be reading the disk that had been inserted. Eventually, a picture swam onto the screen. At first it was hard to pick anything out, then after a while it was clear as to what the grainy and badly taken photo was of. Tower Bridge.

'You know what this means, don't you Sherlock?' muttered John.

'Stop it with the clichés John. It's getting annoying. And yes, I do know what it means, I'm not stupid. Call a taxi, we're going out.'

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**Please review, it really would make me happy :D**


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